


there, then, he sat

by icantelltheworld



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Gen, I re-titled this so I could make a Moby-Dick reference because of course I did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icantelltheworld/pseuds/icantelltheworld
Summary: Shouldn’t mutiny have been easier the second time around?
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	there, then, he sat

**Author's Note:**

> "There, then, he sat, holding up that imbecile candle in the heart of that almighty forlornness. There, then, he sat, the sign and symbol of a man without faith, hopelessly holding up hope in the midst of despair." - Moby-Dick, Chapter 48: The First Lowering, Herman Melville
> 
> Born out of my imagining what Armitage and Pilkington may have been up to after their conversation with Tozer near the end of ep 9.

The night was unusually calm and all was bathed in the lavender hue of the sky above, yet the atmosphere was not peaceful. The sickeningly still air seemed to herald impending disaster. 

Pilkington sat crouched just inside the flap of his tent, shotgun gripped tightly in one hand, listening for anything out of the ordinary. So far, he had detected only the usual nighttime sounds of the camp but he could not let his focus wane for even a second.

He glanced nervously to the corner of the tent where a stockpile of supplies had accumulated, now too significant to be overlooked as anything but what it was were it to be discovered.

What was taking so long? He shifted his weight and tried to listen harder. Surely there would be a commotion if anything had gone wrong? Unless Hickey had somehow ambushed and killed him so quickly that there had been no time for him to cry out? Oh God, maybe he should go and-

No. He was to stay here to ensure the safety of the supplies. That was the plan. He was only to leave the tent if he had solid reason to believe there was trouble.

He paced his breaths and tried to calm himself. Every supply-gathering trip had gone smoothly thus far, surely this time would be no different. But if only Tozer were helping them now. That would make him feel much more at ease. 

He was diverted from these thoughts as he made out the sound of shale sliding under approaching footfalls. He rose shakily to his feet, readying to fire if necessary.

But thankfully, as the footsteps stopped just outside, he heard Armitage’s voice whispering the entry password and, with relief, he lowered his gun and parted the tent flap.

Armitage entered quickly and deposited an armful of additional supplies into the pile before wordlessly taking a seat on the padding laid on the ground that served as his bed.

Pilkington sat too, on his own bed, and looked from the supplies to Armitage who was staring downwards in silence, his expression distant.

“I couldn’t get to the meat,” he said finally, in a low voice.

That was how they had been referring to it. Just ‘meat.’ It was best not to think of what it was beyond that. Just sustenance. Just survival. And they would have to eat something if they were going to make it back to the ships.

“Each time I walked past the tent it’s kept in, there was someone nearby,” Armitage continued, still not looking up. “I couldn’t risk getting caught.”

“We can grab it tomorrow,” Pilkington suggested. “It’ll be easier with Sergeant Tozer on our side.”

Armitage didn’t respond, glancing up at Pilkington for a moment and then back at the ground.

“We’ll outgun the rest of the camp then, the three of us, if it comes to that,” Pilkington said, as much to temper his own anxieties as Armitage’s.

But Armitage looked up and shook his head. “We won’t. We brought two- no, three new guns back to camp with Crozier today and I don’t know who has them now.”

Pilkington subconsciously ran a hand over his own shotgun as he took in this information.

“And we’ll need to take the sled too, we can’t carry all of this on our backs,” Armitage said, his voice wavering as he eyed their supplies. “I don’t know how we’ll hide that we’re packing it up.”

“Sergeant Tozer will know what to do, Tom. He’ll help us. He said he would.” Pilkington said, trying to sound reassuring and confident. 

And he  _ was _ confident, of course. Avoiding a second mutiny, as Tozer had called it, would be ideal but tomorrow he would see that there was no other option. He had said they would do what they needed to do, hadn’t he? Surely he would stick to his word.

But Armitage was looking down again, eyes hollowed with doubt. 

Pilkington couldn’t stand to listen to the uncertainty that permeated in the silence. He had to believe that Tozer would aid in their plan and come with them. They couldn’t do this by themselves. Everything depended on him. Their  _ lives _ depended on him.

Suddenly, Armitage clapped a hand over his mouth and Pilkington saw that his face had gone sickly pale.

Covering their mouths to try to keep from vomiting was a strategy they had developed so as not to waste what little they were given and they’d had to employ it more frequently as the meat had started to spoil and their stress had increased.

Armitage turned away as he gagged against his hand and, shuddering, he swallowed heavily. But, seconds later, he gagged again and this time he scrambled to a vacant corner of the tent and vomited outright.

Pilkington looked away, half out of respect for privacy and half in the interest of not following suit. He could tell, though, that Armitage was trying to make as little noise as possible, lest it attract unwanted attention to their tent. 

When he was through, Armitage returned to his bed, trembling slightly from the exertion and wiping his mouth on his sleeve for lack of a better implement. His gaze was fixed hopelessly downwards.

For a moment, Pilkington did not know what to say. He truly had no idea what they were going to do if Tozer didn’t help them after all. But, as his eyes lowered in defeat, he caught sight of the red of his uniform and, faded as it was, it awakened some small reserve of hope in him. 

Just because he couldn’t see the way out of this situation, out of this horrible place, right now, didn’t mean there wasn’t a way and that they wouldn’t find it somehow, come tomorrow. 

He knelt forward and placed his hand on Armitage’s shoulder.

“We’re gonna make it, Tom, I know it,” Pilkington said with the most real conviction he had felt in months. “We’ll get away from here. Back to England. We’ll  _ live _ .” 

Armitage met his gaze, looking unconvinced yet still somewhat heartened by the sentiment. After hesitating a moment, he nodded faintly and Pilkington squeezed his arm in encouragement before getting up and moving back into position by the entrance to the tent.

“I’ll keep watch for a few more hours,” he said. “You should get some rest.” 

Armitage briefly looked as if he was considering arguing the point but, exhaustion prevailing, he simply nodded again, the corners of his mouth twitching vaguely upwards in what was almost a smile, before he began to settle himself down to sleep. 

Pilkington laid his gun on the ground next to him and peeked through a crack in the tent flap. The night had not changed, yet somehow its stillness felt less foreboding. 

All he could do for now was wait and worrying about what was to come wouldn’t help anything. They would figure something out, whatever happened in the morning. 


End file.
